Ashes to Ashes
by MarthaJones11
Summary: An elderly priest witnesses a simple yet remarkable encounter following the imposition of ashes in a small Parisian church. One-shot Javert/Valjean/Cosette.


The priest began to vest in the sanctuary behind the altar. Carefully laying out his chasuble and stole, he shrugged one arm, then the other, into the white alb and girded himself with the cincture, looping the knots at his waist. Picking up the stole from its draped position on the nearest chair, the priest placed it around his neck so that the two sides fell evenly at his legs. Finally, he pulled the deep purple chasuble from the tabletop, shrugging into it and adjusting its fit with his stole. Placing his berretta slightly askew on his greying head, the priest tugged sharply on the cord attached to a small bell, which rang in the main area of the church, signaling his eminent arrival and causing all gathered to quickly stand.

Father Andre opened the overcrowded church in prayer.

"In nomine patris et filii et spritus sancti. Amen," he began, conducting opening rites in the liturgical Latin and switching to the colloquial French for a brief explanation of the holy day. Doubtless, many of the gathered souls knew little of its significance, and the aged priest saw fit to explain the day.

"Today, we gather to mark the first day of Lent, Ash Wednesday. With this day comes the imposition of ashes upon the forehead, a marking of our mortality and passing from this world. During this season of Lent, we should keep our own finite lives close at mind, and seek to draw closer to God through prayer, fasting, and almsgiving." Father Andre raised his eyes to the gathered congregation. Rich and poor, businessmen and beggars, policemen and thieves – all had gathered on this Ash Wednesday, all in this same place.

"In the imposition of these ashes, we are reminded of our equality and sameness with our fellow man. Your brother is yourself. Today, forgive your brother." With that, the elderly priest stepped from the altar to a small credence table, upon which rested a fount of holy water and a dish of ashes.

Sprinkling the ashes with water, the priest invoked a brief blessing.

"Lord, bless these ashes, that all who wear them in faith may grow closer to you through love they show to fellow man." With that, he picked up the dish of blessed ashes and turned to the congregation, beckoning the first pew of faithful forward to receive them on the forehead. Dipping his thumb into the dish, Father Andre made the sign of the cross on the forehead of the first penitent.

"Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return," he said quietly, to which the young man replied, "Amen," and returned to his seat.

Father Andre counted nearly three hundred faithful that received ashes, and the entire affair took the better part of an hour. When the final penitent, a small child with a red rosette on the lapel of his dirty jacket, had received ashes on his forehead, the priest turned, returned the dish to its place on the credence table, and walked back to the altar.

"Go now," he proclaimed, "and repent, return to the Gospel. You are dust, and your lives are fleeting. Show love to your brother, for he too is the dust of the earth. And may the blessings of God Almighty, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, be among you this night and forever more. Amen."

No sooner had the final prayer finished than the faithful began to flood through the doors, back to their lives, back their street corners and homes and shops. Father Andre sighed quietly, hoping this year he might have impressed the importance of this day and Lenten season upon at least one member of his congregation. He turned back into the sanctuary, carefully removing and hanging his chasuble, stole, cincture, and alb, donning in their place a simple black cassock. The elderly priest then returned to the main part of the church, expecting the building to be empty.

He was shocked, then, to notice three people still remaining, all on their knees, all wearing vastly different expressions. One, a middle-aged man with dark yet greying hair sat near the back of the church, eyes tightly closed, occasionally bowing his head into his hands, occasionally wiping silent tears from his eyes, but never opening them to gaze upon the altar. With him sat a young girl, whom Father Andre placed around twelve, who wore a dark chapel veil and, while reverent as the man next to her, contained also the boundless energy and curiosity of youth. She stared at the man's forehead, then touched her own, examining her fingers for remnants of the dark ashes. She would pray with hands folded for several minutes, then look up toward the altar, taking in the terrible beauty of the crucifix suspended above. The chapel veil came off several times, revealing a shock of golden hair, only to be carefully returned to its previous position.

Near the middle of the church sat the third remaining worshipper. While Father Andre guessed the other man was in business, and the girl his daughter, the old priest did not recognize the pair. However, this man wore the navy blue uniform of the Paris Police Force, and beside him in the pew sat his force-issued hat. The officer's sandy hair and beard were neatly trimmed, his appearance immaculate and uniform spotless. His eyes were closed in silent prayer, hands clasped before him as he leaned over the kneeler.

Father Andre began to clear the altar, changing the candlesticks and preparing for evening mass. He occasionally glanced at the three faithful, rather enjoying the silent company in the too-often empty church. After some time, a faint creaking reached the priest's ears as he looked up to see the police officer sitting back in the pew to gather his hat and exit the building. Hat clutched close to his chest, the man stepped from the pew, genuflected and crossed himself, then turned sharply on one heel and began to walk swiftly to the doors of the church. He, too, noticed the remaining man and young girl, and seemed to think nothing of their presence. However, upon reaching the doors to the outside world, the officer stopped, turned, and stalked back to the man, hovering over him and gazing intently at his face. The businessman, lost within a world of prayer and God, continued with eyes closed and hands tightly clasped. His daughter, though, seemingly happy for the company to break up the monotony of her father's contemplation, whispered around her father to the officer.

"Look monsieur! Papa has dirt on his forehead, and you have dirt on your forehead! You look the same!"

At the sound of his daughter's voice, the man's eyes shot open, looking directly up at the officer looking down upon him. He sprang to his feet, thrusting the girl behind him, assuming a protective stance, a pleading look in his still tearstained eyes. He glanced around quickly, looking up and down the aisle, which was blocked by the substantial officer, who looked unwilling to yield, but gazed wondrously at the child behind her father. Tearing his eyes from the girl, the officer stared then at the man in front of him, hand twitching over his club and handcuffs. Father Andre began walking down the stairs of the altar, ready to intervene to prevent violence in the House of God, especially in front of a child. He moved slowly, however, too slowly, as he noticed the officer raise one gloved hand into the air at striking level. He would not arrive in time to prevent any fight, nor was he in any condition to break one apart.

However, to his surprise, the officer muttered softly to the man in front of him, too softly for the priest to hear. He then used his gloved hand to wipe the ashes from his forehead, turned, and pushed open the doors of the church. The priest reached the man and child, now beginning to kneel again in prayer.

"My son," asked the elderly priest, "I need not know the circumstances of your meeting. However, might I inquire as to this man's words to you?"

Looking up at Father Andre from his kneeling position, with child again kneeling and fussing beside him, the man spoke softly, calling to mind the words spoken by the officer.

"Out of your child's mouth has your salvation come," the man spoke, "for she has noted our likeness in our dirty foreheads. From this day forth, my forehead shall be clean, as yours is unable to be cleaned." With this, the man took his daughter by the hand, genuflected and crossed himself, and left the church. He left, in his wake, a mystified priest, wondering whether he had just witnessed a miracle.


End file.
